


red wolf & blue lion

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Death Knights, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty, Alternate Universe - Star Wars, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Feral Behavior, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7517695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warcraft drabbles based off prompts I recieve both here and on tumblr. Tags will be added as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Garrosh & Anduin: Role Reversal

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr, @readasaur: "Anduin/Garrosh role reversal."
> 
> setting is purple parlor during wrath, more friendship than actual shipping, COMPOUND SENTENCES AGOGO  
> [originally written in december 2014]

This meeting is wasn’t one he expected, no, but this not stop him from finding the alliance’s crown prince when he wanders into the next room after the summit (tired from he and Thrall reigning in his father’s notorious temper and Proudmoore and Fordragon reigning in their prince’s once again).

He hears sniffling behind one of the bookshelves, and when he turns the corner, Anduin Wrynn is standing there like a frightened rabbit caught in a trap with eyes wide and watery, looking very much the boy he still is, barely of age and his inherited armor especially noticeably large on him.

Garrosh says nothing initially, shock from seeing the famously headstrong lion prince not quite worn off, but when the words “I miss my dad,” come out of Anduin’s mouth, a mewl in comparison to his usual roars, the orc finds himself holding the prince as if he were his own child.


	2. Wranduin: Making Anduin Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @alacritious-eidolon: "not even bothering with anon: Wranduin, "Wrathion finds a way to make Anduin immortal like he is" AU"
> 
> why must you hurt me in this way  
> [originally written december 2014]

_“What have you done?”_

The former-human looked down at his nascent golden claws in horror, his newly-formed wings folding against his back awkwardly, anxiously; it was only natural that he could not quite get them to do what he wanted when he’d only had them a few hours.

_“Wrathion, what have you **done** to me?”_


	3. Garrosh & Anduin: Star Wars AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @heldas: "GARROSH AND ANDUIN IN STAR WARS DO IT DO IT NOW"
> 
> gdi boyfriend  
> okay context garrosh might have nicked a jedi’s padawan after said jedi died in an unrelated way  
> [originally written december 2014]

“Honestly, did you have to _kill_ them?!”

Garrosh just eyed his new would-be apprentice tiredly, taking in the blonde’s flushed cheeks and the force-sparks flaring around his watery eyes; he would learn in time what it meant to be sith, he supposed, but this was already promising to be a long and arduous process for Anduin to unlearn his padawan training.

"Next time it will be you if you do not do as you are told,” he warned in a growl, not addressing the fact that Anduin would have died if Garrosh hadn’t cut down their enemies.


	4. Varrosh: Sleeping Beauty AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, an anonymous request: "Sleeping Beauty. Pairing: Garrosh/Varian"
> 
> [originally written december 2014]

Varian had been expecting a maiden- a human one, even- and the creature that lay before him couldn’t be either of those, judging by the sheer size or the sharp tusks protruding from his lower lip.

But he had to be someone of importance, what with the foreign decadence of the room, and the bone and iron jewelry laying across the strange, swirling tattoos on the creature’s chest.

He decided to take a chance anyway, not wanting to come back from his quest with nothing, and was pleasantly surprised when he pressed his lips to the creature’s and found sunburst yellow eyes blinking sleepily back at him.


	5. Thrall/Varian: High School AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @readasaur: "Thrall/Varian high school AU."
> 
> basically varian’s going “OH NO HE’S HOT”  
> [originally written december 2014]

Someone is using the shower in the locker room.

This by itself isn’t much a surprise, but gym isn’t scheduled for this period, and really, no one should be here, himself included- Varian had run back to get his forgotten history text book, and when he heard the shower running he turned to look without thinking and he doesn’t recognize who it is, at first, because their back is turned (wide-shouldered and sculpted beneath the long, dark hair wetly clinging to their body, he notes involuntarily, warmth pooling in his belly).

However, the thing about lockers is that they’re never quiet, so when Varian actually grabs his book, they turn their head to see who it is, and when he realizes it’s Thrall, embarrassment clear on his face when he whirls back around immediately and tries to make himself very, very small, shame drops like a stone into Varian’s stomach, but does nothing to impede the expanding heat.


	6. Garrosh: Garrosh Sneaks to Azeroth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @imaginegarroshhellscream: "Imagine Geyah refusing to let Thrall take Garrosh to Azeroth."
> 
> [originally written june 2014]

Geyah refusing because no, his people need him, and the world he wishes to go to is about to erupt into chaos. But Garrosh sneaks out after Thrall leaves, because he wants to see what an unbroken world looks like. He wants to remember.

 

He never does quite catch up to Thrall, and arriving in the blasted lands is greatly disheartening, but. The orc and draenei commanders are working together willingly, here. There’s no shortage of food to feed their soldiers, either.

They don’t recognize him for who he is (he’s strangely glad and disappointed at this- his father’s shame still clings to him like a shadow, but Thrall said it was different here, that his father redeemed himself and he very, very desperately wants to believe that), but they do give him directions, and that’s enough.

When he makes it to the Swamp of Sorrows, this when he truly realizes that this world is unbroken. It’s not quite at first, mind, sitting in the back of his head as a distant sort of disbelief when he finds prey easily in this thick forest. In fact, it isn’t until he makes it to the eastern shore and sees the ocean for the first time that he can truly accept that this world in not in pieces floating through the nether.

The beach is not what one would call beautiful- it’s too short from the forest to the water line, there’s too many reeds, and the water is more brown than blue- but the limitless expanse of the sea, the birds flying fearlessly over it, and the glimpse of fishing boats in the distance, these are what make him realize that this world is whole. This is what makes his heart swell up and pound against his ribs, what makes him wretched with joy. (This world is untainted, unbroken, this world has no shortage of food and water and shelter, and he still can’t quite believe it, vision blurring and watery and ears burning, but still it lay all around him, still turning as if unaware of these profound wonders.)

He remains awestruck for days, up until he passes by a camp of lost ones, and remembers the great and terrible evil that his people did, drunk on fel magic and ambition. It is a low he hasn’t felt in some time, not since Garadar where his will was sapped and most days he could barely move from his bed.

He goes through the next few days numbly, and doesn’t quite recover until he reaches Stranglethorn. He doesn’t quite remember how he got there.

However, he begins to truly see here what Geyah meant by chaos- the trolls in the jungle aren’t happy to see him, the humans and dwarves aren’t either, and he spends quite a few days running for his life because brave he may be but stupid he is not, and more often than not, they outgear and outnumber him greatly, and he would very much like to live through this venture.

He arrives at Grom'gol, thoroughly hassled but unhurt for the most part, and though the other orcs eye him warily (as he does as well; unable to shove down his gut reaction to seeing to the fel taint after growing up in a place where seeing that on another orc meant you had to fight or flee), they still welcome him in, and appreciate the work he does for them over the few days he alternates between dreading and impatiently waiting for the arrival of the zeppelin to Orgrimmar.

He learns that he hates flying. It reminds him too much of how easily one could drop off the edge of the world back in Draenor. He spends most of his time below deck and trying not to flinch too much when a particularly powerful gust of wind rattles the zeppelin. He is especially glad, more than ever, that no one recognizes him as his father’s son, ashamed of his irrational fear. (One of the goblin engineers grins at him with sharp teeth, but not unkindly. “Everyone’s first time flying is rough, don’t worry about it buddy,” he assured him, slapping his back good-naturedly. If there’s one thing he can admire about goblins, it’s their fearlessness of being small in a too-big world.)

Orgrimmar is.

Orgrimmar just. _Is_.

He had no warning of how big it is, how bustling and lively. It’s a far cry from Shattrath, and even farther from his home village. When they start to pull in at the tower, he can brave going on the deck before they land long enough to see the expanse of the city, to hear the marketplace noise and smell the food from the street vendors, even at this distance. He grins widely despite himself, stupidly happy, and can’t quite remove it from his face for a long time afterwards, not until the zeppelin lands and he’s halfway to Grommosh Hold. The thought of meeting up with Thrall again brings home just how _long_ he’s been away from Garadar. It’s been months at least; were they alright? Did they have enough food? Were the defenses holding? Was Geyah being taken care of?

He goes through the drag distractedly like this, numbly anxious, and doesn’t realize that he’s arrived at Grommosh Hold until the guards are letting him in.

He mostly observes Thrall from the far end of the room, watching him and a tall, blue troll with a shock of red hair work through the issues presented before them by Orgrimmar’s citizens. It only further reminds him of the things he’s left, the things he needs to return to. They don’t finish for several hours and the sun is low in the sky, and Garrosh wonders at the sheer mental endurance that the Warchief must possess, to have to deal with this on a daily basis. This is not something that he can say that he, himself, possesses, and Thrall still looks tired afterwards. But the troll, tired as well, gives him a smirk, one between good friends, and Thrall smiles back, and Garrosh cannot say that he isn’t envious. (Maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy for him to leave Garadar if he had someone waiting for him to return. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.)

Thrall notices him, then, and shock bleeds into his expression. He isn’t unhappy to see Garrosh, no- quite the contrary, blue eyes gleaming with a sort of excited recognition that Garrosh isn’t sure is entirely for him- but he’s confused as to how and why he’s here, and when he sees guilt flicker through his face, he sighs. He’s not angry, no, but this is somehow worse. Anger is something that Garrosh can deal with. Disappointment is a thing that clings to his heels and gnaws at his back and grows like a parasite until he feels too weighed down to move anymore.

“I wanted to see the unbroken world,” Garrosh mumbles, suddenly feeling small and childish and stupid. “I wanted to see our people actually living and thriving.” Thrall looks very worn and old suddenly, and nods in understanding. The troll eyes him up, then looks at Thrall expectantly.

“This is Garrosh, son of Hellscream,” Thrall introduces, and the troll looks at him again, strangely empathetic despite his fierceness.

He seems to understand, too, at least.

When he heads back, days later and after Thrall showing him around the city multiple times with a puppyish excitement shining through his calm demeanor as he introduces Garrosh around and they recognize the son of Hellscream with an awe he’s not sure he deserves, it’s with the gifts people have given him during this time, furs and meat from the trolls, weapons and iron from the orcs, and cloth and greens from the tauren. (He and the forsaken are wary of each other, and he and the blood elves even more so, but he won’t fault them for it. Thrall tells him about their shattered homes, and Garrosh tries to figure out when exactly the Horde stopped being a war machine and started being a band of survivors trying to make a patchwork family of each other. He suspects it’s when his father died killing the demon that hunted his people so fervently that it followed them across worlds.)

Both Thrall and Vol’jin, the troll introducing himself with a disarming grin and a raspy laugh, accompany him, helping him load the gifts people have given him onto a line of kodos, and leading them through a portal big enough that four mages have to maintain it. It puts them right outside Garadar, the village guard already starting to surround it when he leads the first kodo through, and by the time the last one has come through, the entire village has come out to see it, including Geyah herself, escorted by Dranosh.

Garrosh freezes up as Geyah comes forward, numb with anxiety right up until she stands before him. She stares him down, indescribably furious, but it only holds for a few seconds before she pulls him into a crushing embrace. She moves aside, but before Garrosh can speak, she is replaced by Dranosh, whose strength knocks the wind out of his chest when he wraps his arms around him.

 “We thought you were dead. You’re a fucking idiot, you know that,” Dranosh snaps, brow furrowed but a relieved smile curling around his tusks despite himself.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I brought things for the village,” he adds, still a bit breathless.

“We noticed,” Geyah replies moodily, caught between absolutely livid and begrudgingly fond. “Don’t do that again. We need you here. Idiot.” Garrosh looks between them, and glances back to the portal and the villagers peeking through it curiously at the city that lay beyond, and the citizens of that city looking back just as curiously.

He makes a note to himself to ask Thrall about installing a permanent portal.


	7. Jaina/Garrosh: Dark AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @readasaur: "Jaina/Garrosh. Dark AU where she didn't listen to Thrall when he told her not to do the thing."
> 
> [originally written december 2014]  
> sidenote: this drabble is also what prompted me to write "leave your bones" holy shit

Her death is a short-lived solace, and when he pulls the shroud of sleep from her it is a tearing that mars her soul, ripped screaming from the aether to confirm again that yes, Thrall was right, Arthas no longer existed, the intrusive presence in her mind is not him, not entirely, but now she is too cold to feel any sort of sorrow, an icy rage clutching at her lungs, her heart.

With the frost that now coats her arms, her fingers, she is made to attack the forces who have made their base in the citadel’s entrance, and rain hail and ice upon them she does, until they retreat, Garrosh Hellscream covering their escape, grimly accepting his fate.

When a val’kyr pulls him into their plane of existence, it’s with a howl that lives up to his father’s name, and Jaina says “I’m sorry.”


	8. Garrosh & Anduin: Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @many-anduin-wrynns: "characters: Anduin and Garrosh. Prompt: Training"
> 
> takes prompt and runs mumbling something about aus where garrosh was freed of the sha of pride once the bell crushed anduin
> 
> [originally written january 2015]

He's been better, since the bell.

Losing half a leg didn’t help him any, but it doesn’t bother him as much as Garrosh thought it would, the little lion cub hobbling around the hold with a cane and a wooden leg as soon as he could. His recovery isn’t fast, as much as Anduin insists it is; he flinches minutely when it hurts, keeps his pain quiet so that the healers don’t usher him to the infirmary again. Garrosh notices, but doesn’t press, as much as it grates on him. He understands not wanting to feel weak, even if Anduin takes a step wrong and and twinges, close to tearing up, and brushes off any inquiry about his injury while Garrosh just feels guilt pool in his stomach, heavy as lead.  
  
Anduin takes to practicing archery in his spare time, which is any time he can slink away from the healers or any of the grunts meant to be escorting him, which is nearly always. He might’ve made a good rogue, Garrosh thinks, but Anduin is quick to disprove that notion as soon as he tells him this.  
  
“I’m not that quiet,” he laughs. “I’m just good at not being noticed, I guess.” He’s smiling, still, but it begins to shrink, little by little, as he goes on. Garrosh raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“And this isn’t a good skill, how?” he points out, drawing it out slowly. Anduin laughs again.  
  
“I’m good with a bow, yes, and my aim’s alright with throwing knives, but that doesn’t mean I’d be a good rogue,” he explains. “I’m no good at the kind of alchemy it would take to mix poisons, and I don’t really have the sort of strength or agility for it. I’ve never really been that strong.” There’s a blip where Anduin’s smile disappears completely, but it comes back nearly quick enough to be unnoticeable. Nearly.  
  
“Besides, you know, ‘light-favored,’ and all that,” he is quick to joke. It doesn’t quite cover up the hurt. Garrosh tilts his head at him, wolfish. Remembers being small and sick, Geyah speaking softly to him while he sweated out fevers. Remembers barely anything during from the delirium it caused. Remembers having to fight and fight and fight to put any sort of weight and keep it for the longest time after the redpox had long been gone, wrists thin and ribcage showing through too-thin skin.  
  
“Don’t run from your guards anymore,” Garrosh says after a moment. Anduin frowns, looks hurt again and Garrosh shoves away the knee-jerk guilt. “If you want to practice with a bow, you ask. You don’t get to run off anymore. Understand?” Anduin nods and rolls his eyes minutely like Garrosh can’t see it, but Garrosh locks in on this, grasps his jaw with one hand, not forceful but with enough pressure to let him know he meant business, makes Anduin look him in the eye.  
  
Anduin looks surprised to have been caught, the little shit.  
  
“Understand?” he repeats again, lowly, and Anduin nods again, sincere. He lets go, and the lion cub watches him warily, eyes still wide and rubbing the points on his jaw where the orc’s fingers had pressed in.  
  
“Good,” he states. “You’re not going to get any better without some sort of teacher, anyway.”


	9. Thrall & Wrathion: Hi Hungry I'm Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr, @p-3a: "i know im super late but: something about wrathion&thrall and thrall having black dragon traits and weird orc parent and"
> 
> weird dagron dad a go go  
> [originally written january 2014]

Their first meeting goes okay, all things considered.  
  
There was never a chance of it not being awkward, but then again, this sort of thing isn’t really typical to begin with; waking up a couple days after the maelstrom’s been taken care of with the beginnings of horns and a tail rarely is. So Thrall goes to Wrathion, because he’s got nobody else to really talk to about this, and the horns are starting to move up from tiny nubs poking out of his hairline to actual, legitimate horns.  
  
The guards at Ravenholdt aren’t too happy to see him, but they let him in anyway, so Wrathion’s decided not to be hostile, at least. In particular, there is a human man with olive skin and copper hair who is thoroughly unimpressed by him, but he still leads him up the staircase where Wrathion supposedly is. He knows, instinctively, that this man isn’t actually a man, that he’s like him, somehow. He isn’t sure what to do with that, particularly when the man growls at him when he first lays his eyes on Thrall, and Thrall… growls back, for some reason. Not an orcish growl, either, a deep and thunderous sound that rumbles through him from the earth. This is supposed to be a warning, he knows somehow. Reluctantly, the man stops, and bows his head, exposing his neck while he rolls his eyes like he hates that he’s doing this, and Thrall apparently rumbles with approval and forgiveness.  
  
Well. That’s different.  
  
Wrathion, to his credit, holds composure for about thirty seconds, long enough for Thrall to explain what was happening, miraculously, before his pupils grow comically large and rounded, and he approaches Thrall slowly, slinking guiltily towards him like a child that knows it’s misbehaved. Thrall is about to ask Wrathion if something is wrong, but Wrathion beats him to the punch by opening his mouth and a series of high-pitched chirps coming out. Thrall apparently loses what semblance of cognitive sentience he has, because the next thing he does is crouch down to Wrathion’s level, nuzzling the side of his face and the same deep rumble emanating from his chest, though less a warning like last time and more of reassurance. Thrall has no idea why he’s doing this; it’s just sort of happening. Wrathion noses into the nape of his neck, producing a similar but much higher-pitched rumble, before abruptly regaining his composure and jerking away from him. He’s pretty embarassed, suffice to say, and Thrall isn’t sure why he isn’t. It’s. Really concerning, actually.  
  
“Does being given the title of earthwarder mean that I’m going to become a black dragon now?” he asks.  
  
“Apparently,” Wrathion replies, miffed. “Well, probably. Most likely, you’ll become something inbetween.” Thrall sighs. That’s fucking great.  
  
“Do you and him…” He points over his shoulder to the man that led him in. “…see me as Deathwing now?” Wrathion flinches a bit at the name, evidently not having fully regained his composure, and Thrall suddenly wants to pick him up and put him in a hidey-hole somewhere, where he’ll be safe. He frowns at this.  
  
“More-or-less,” he replies. “Less that you’re Deathwing himself and more that you’re the rank that he previously held. Though you’ve been untouched by the corruption of the old gods, so there’s that at least,” he adds, a sarcastic smirk forming on his face. Thrall drags a hand down his face exasperatedly.  
  
“Is there anything we can do about this?” he asks a bit pointlessly.  
  
“The transformation? I’m not really sure,” Wrathion admits. “But I can help you manage your… newfound instincts, at the very least.”  
  
His pupils still take up most of his eyes, and he’s still looking at Thrall with something starving in his expression. Thrall isn’t sure that he believes him, but he’ll take what he can get.


	10. Thrall & Wrathion: Hi Hungry I'm Dad 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of the previous prompt.
> 
> [originally written january 2015]

The claws are concerning, but not nearly as much as the grooming, he learns.

His visits with Wrathion are no longer new, but they are becoming frequent, and manage to find new ways to surprise him each time. This time, apparently, when he goes to ask about how to deliberately dull or shorten his new and admittedly frighteningly long claws without hurting himself or others (and that wasn’t even addressing the brown-black scales starting to grow up his arms or that his legs had up and shifted into something digigrade overnight), he learns that apparently when given the right motivation, he can be still be as gentle and careful as he was before having them.

Wrathion is about halfway through explaining how a regular nail file is just fine as long as he’s careful when Thrall notices a lock of dark, curled hair peeking out of his turban, and not even thinking, he carefully tucks it back in. Of course, this is about the time that Wrathion turns bright red, face flushed with embarassment as his pupils predictably blow up, and Thrall, who had thought himself better than this by now but is apparently wrong, rumbles inquisitively as he leans down and smells just above Wrathion’s head, trying to detect if something is amiss.

It’s really, really fucking obvious what’s amiss when the moment passes and he realizes exactly what he’s doing, backing off with an exasperated apology. But then Wrathion chirrups, actually chirrups at him, and well, then he’s just done.

He finds himself and Wrathion sitting on the floor twenty minutes later, and he’s carefully, carefully running his claws through Wrathion’s surprisingly long hair like a comb. Wrathion is quietly rumbling and half-asleep, and of course this happened, because why wouldn’t it, at this point.

Thrall sighs deeply like a put-upon parent, because that’s what he is, apparently, and continues.


End file.
